


Living Memory

by LynMars79



Series: Aeryn Striker [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Backstory, Friendship, Gen, Heavensward, Microfics, Midlander Hyur Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), NPC Cameos - Freeform, Stormblood, Tumblr, a realm reborn, prompts, shadowbringers, table of contents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 15,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynMars79/pseuds/LynMars79
Summary: A thread for random prompts, microfics, blurbs, etc, about Warrior of Light Aeryn Striker, and her journeys and friendships through the realm.These are mostly shorter works that don't fit a main narrative nor stand alone. Many come from Tumblr, some new, some expanded on/edited from prior posting. More or less in chronological order.
Series: Aeryn Striker [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632130
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. Table of Contents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the blurbs and prompts in this thread, and who else appears in them. Occasionally rearranged and updated to be in chronological order.

2 Dragoon's Memory - Ser Alberic Bale recalls his first and current impressions of Aeryn

3 A Sister's Wish - Aeryn's stepsister Rashae is concerned, backstory post.

4 Leaving - Aeryn watches her brother leave home, then years later does so herself to find him.

5 Fearlessness - Aeryn meets Dark Autumn at Gridania's Lancer guild. Early ARR 2.0

6 Sanctum - A quiet moment at the Sanctum of the Twelve in the East Shroud.

7 Wanting - What does the Dark Knight Fray Myste really want from Aeryn? ARR 2.5

8 Cuddling Type - Tataru strikes a nerve teasing Aeryn about how close she is to Haurchefant. ARR 2.5

9 The Fury's Love - Aeryn contemplates Halone after helping the seminarians.

10 Fast Learner - Aeryn and confrontations with Ilberd. ARR 2.3 through HW 3.5

11 Blood - What went through her head during the end of the assault on Rhalgr's Reach. Early StB 4.0

12 Campfire - Camping on the Steppe with Gosetsu. Mid StB 4.0

13 Sanity - Explaining to Shigure-best one can-why she participates in Hildibrand's misadventures.

14 Blush - Aeryn blushes easily. She wishes her friends were around to make her. StB 4.4

15 The Parley - Aeryn and Varis talk during the break in the meeting between the Emperor and the Eorzean Alliance. StB 4.5

16 Friends - Arya reminds Aeryn she has more support to lean on. StB 4.5

17 Loyal and Stubborn - Aeryn convinces Raubahn she's fit to fight the Ascian despite the Call. StB 4.5

18 Safe - Estinien's PoV after the battle with the Ascian in Ghimlyt. StB 4.5

19 Connected - Aeryn and Lyse after being defeated by the Ascian, before Aeryn leaves for the First. StB 4.5

20 Another's Memory - Nightmares about a Calamity she didn't see. Talking to Ardbert on waking. ShB 5.0

21 Comfort Food - Aeryn tells Alisaie what food she would choose for a Final Meal on the First. Early ShB 5.0

22 Bad End AU: Shadowbringers - Elidibus reminds Aeryn she still has much to lose.

23 Omelets - F'lhaminn is not impressed by what Aeryn's done to her kitchen.

24 Seven Devils - My version of the boss fight in Eulmore, rare canon divergence. Late 5.0. 

25 Waiting - Aeryn maintains an old tradition through the night. ShB 5.0 end.

26 Flower - Emet-Selch has a few memories as he looks at Aeryn's favored hair decoration. ShB 5.0.

27 Memory - A place and time not quite remembered, after so long and so many changes.


	2. Dragoon's Memory

“It took me a bit to remember; it was her eyes that did it. She was just a little thing back then, and those bright eyes seemed to take up most of her face, as she peered at me from behind her mother’s skirts. Part of the village had been destroyed, and her father was among the casualties. I chased the wyrm to Ferndale–well, you know what happened there. I later learned Mistress Striker had taken her children and left Eorzea for the land of her own birth. I cannot blame her.

“Twenty years later, I met a young woman with those same big, bright eyes. She had become an adventurer. People said she could kill primals. I seized the opportunity and trained her–though she is now best with magic channeled through her blade. Still, fate drew her home, and she ended our thousand year war.

“Aeryn Striker is a hero of the realm; the bards sing her praises, and people everywhere talk of the Warrior of Light and her extraordinary deeds.

“But I still remember a little girl with big eyes that took in too much. That still see more than one of her years should bear. They shift with her moods, you know; her eyes are that right shade of grey, that you can tell what she feels. When last I spoke with her, they were the dark color of oncoming storm clouds.

“Twelve have mercy when that storm breaks.”

_-Ser Alberic Bale, former Azure Dragoon of Ishgard_

(Image: Aeryn, a young midlander woman with tan skin and black hair in a ponytail, is in the foreground, wearing a red Scion Traveler's tunic, fingerless gloves, black pants; her arms crossed. Alberic, a middle-aged fair-skinned midlander man with greying black hair, wearing heavy chain armor and a lance on his back, is in the background, watching her over his shoulder. Taken on a snowy night in the Observatorium's square in front of the fire where the Dragoon trainer hangs out.)


	3. A Sister's Wish

Her shoulder was being shaken. Aeryn lifted her head from the book she had been reading at the table, blearily looking up at her stepsister’s frowning face. “Ohhi,” she slurred.

“Past time to go to bed,” Rashae said, pulling Aeryn to her feet.

“I should put away–”

“I’ll do it. Else you’ll start reading again, and I’m like to find you on the floor next time.”

Aeryn couldn’t really argue that.

She followed Rashae from the kitchen. They had not joined the caravan this year again, Papa deciding to trade his wares in town as he had the past three summers; Mama’s health was too bad to take on the roads. The rest of the family had decided to stay as well–just in case.

“Honestly, Aer, you shouldn’t try to stay up so late.”

“It’s the only time I have to study,” she answered. “Mama needs me the rest of the time.”

“You know that’s why I’m staying over more; to give you some time to yourself. You don’t have to do everything.”

She didn’t answer.

They stopped at Aeryn’s door, and Rashae sighed. “I wish you had gone with Zaine.”

Aeryn looked up. “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong; I love having you here and would miss you terribly. So would the kids–all of us. But…” she shook her head. “It wasn’t fair to ask you to stay in the first place. And now you’re trying to do so much, with your studies and taking care of Mama since she got sick. And it’s good that you care, but I wish…” she stopped. “Nevermind.” She looked at Aeryn. “Tomorrow I’ll take care of Mama; you take a day off.”

“But–”

“Aeryn, please. For me.”

“…All right. If it’ll make you happy.”

 _I want you to be happy_ , Rashae thought but did not say, watching Aeryn’s door close behind her. It wasn’t fair, at all, and they were to the point where the only way for her younger stepsister to be free…

She let out a deep breath and squared her shoulders, pushing that dreadful thought aside as she returned to the kitchen to put Aeryn’s book and notes away.

It really wasn’t fair, to any of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote this, I still didn't have a name for Aeryn's elder stepsister. That was decided on later, in one of the FFXIV Writes, so in reposting I added Rashae's name here.


	4. Leaving

“Are you sulking?” Zaine teased, taking a break from packing his bag to poke Aeryn’s shoulder.

She shook her head.

“Really? Seems like sulking to me.”

Aeryn rolled her eyes.

Zaine sighed. “Give it a couple years, Aer. It won’t be that long before you’re through with your own studies–then you can come join me.”

“Or you could just wait.” She looked out the window, feigning disinterest in his preparations.

Zaine stepped closer. She tried to avoid it, but he caught her in an embrace, her back against his chest. “I’ve waited over fourteen years to go home,” he said. “I can’t stay away anymore.”

“Home is here,” Aeryn said. “With our family.” Their mother, stepfather, and his four children; he had always treated the two Strikers as his own, and for better or worse, their step-siblings did as well.

Zaine let her go, and she didn’t have to look to see him scowling. “You were too young to remember.”

“I remember,” Aeryn snapped. “Everything burnt and how we never found our father!”

They said nothing for a long minute, each lost in memories. Hers were more hazy, overall, but some things she recalled far too clearly. Like the ashen remnants of their home, or the man in black armor, with his spiky lance, looking so sad–and so angry, before leaping away.

“I’ve already got passage arranged,” Zaine finally said, slowly. “I’m going to Eorzea. I don’t want to fight before I leave. It might be awhile before we see each other again.”

She said nothing, but her shoulders slumped and she let out a long sigh. She really didn’t want to fight, either. She just wished Mama would let her go, too–or that Zaine would stay.

“You keep up your own training, and in a couple years, when I’m a famous adventurer, I’ll be there to greet you and show you everything in the realm.”

Aeryn eyerolled again, but smiled and nodded at him.

“Good,” Zaine said. “I gotta finish packing. I’ll see you at supper, all right?”

She left him to it.

* * *

Six years later, Aeryn was packing. If she drew out her preparations a little, her stepfather was too kind to mention it.

“I want you to write as soon as you arrive,” he said, voice gruffer than usual.

She nodded, looking around. There was nothing left to pack; not that she had much to take with her, but it felt strange, that the space she had long occupied seemed no longer hers anymore, with everything removed. She wondered if her brother had felt the same.

“And if– _when_ you find your brother, send word as soon as you can. Let him know we miss him, and give him our love.”

She smiled. “I will, Papa.”

He nodded and picked up her bag for her. “Let’s get you to your ship.”

The cart to take her to the port waited out front. Papa put her bag inside and spoke to the driver, while she was swarmed by her four step-siblings, with embraces and teary goodbyes all around. Aeryn looked at her oldest sister, but before she could say anything, Rashae nodded. “I promise, I’ll take care of Mama’s marker for you. And when you send us letters, I’ll read them for her, too.”

Aeryn embraced her again. “Thank you.”

Papa came over. “It’s time to go. Remember: you always have a home here to come back to. You’re my daughter.” He drew her into one of his tight bearhugs, and for a brief moment, she considered not leaving.

But she pulled away with a smile, even if her eyes were more than a little watery. She climbed into the cart, and as it rolled away she watched her family grow smaller until a hill and curve in the road stole them from her sight, as it had with her brother years before.

He had stopped sending letters, and stopped responding to hers, almost five years ago. Rumors and stories said the second moon had fallen on Eorzea, the changes to the world the worst in that realm, with countless dead.

Aeryn had taken care of their mother’s ailing health while completing her own studies and martial training. Aeryn’s schooling had been abandoned, her training sporadic. And now Mama was gone, no longer holding Aeryn here. After years of waiting, it was time to return to the realm of her birth, and hopefully find her brother.

It was time to find her way home.


	5. Fearlessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancer 2.0 quests and a meeting between OCs.

Aeryn growled and slammed the side of her fist into the wall, relishing the shock traveling up her arm. Bloody stubborn arrogant fools, the lot of them!

“A few more strikes like that and you might knock the building down,” an amused, smoky woman’s voice said from behind Aeryn. She turned, feeling that damnable blush climb up her cheeks, to face the speaker.

She was a roegadyn woman, tall by even their standards; short black hair, warm brown skin, and gold eyes that glinted with mirth while the corner of her dark-painted lips quirked up. She was dressed in standard green leather armor, a lance strapped to her back.

“I uh,” Aeryn said, feeling somehow like a child caught misbehaving by an elder sibling. “Just venting some frustration.”

“Obviously,” came the dry response. The roegadyn shrugged. “I’ve had a few moments like those, coming out of that guild hall.”

Aeryn considered a moment. “What do you think of Master Ywain’s teachings?”

The roegadyn mulled it over for a time. “Overall, they serve well enough to guide most young lancers. Composure and resolve are necessary on any battlefield.”

“And all the talk of courage?”

The taller woman shrugged. “A word to wrap the others up in, with a few others besides. My uncle always described courage as being frightened and doing what needs doing anyway. Which doesn’t conflict with the guild’s teachings.”

Aeryn considered that, recalling again the guildmaster berating her for standing her ground when Folques had swung at her, the tip of his lance but an ilm from her face. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been frightened–she had been more angered and annoyed by what she saw as a bully.

“There are fools among the trainee ranks who think they have to be stronger to attain the fearlessness Master Ywain preaches,” the roegadyn continued.

Aeryn looked up at her, tilting her head in question.

The roegadyn shook her head and continued: “I’ve watched you train, and at the guildmaster’s behest, followed and watched your last trial, to see how you fight.” Aeryn was surprised; she hadn’t realized she had been tailed, and heavens knew this woman wasn’t easy to miss. “You’re certainly skilled and one of the strongest I’ve seen.”

Aeryn could feel the “but” coming, though simply waited for her to continue. 

She was rewarded with a knowing smirk from those painted lips. “But you already know strength has naught to do with fearlessness.”

Aeryn nodded. “I feared more what Folques would do to that young man–I…don’t know that I would have fought so hard, had I not. If I’d have fought his ridiculous challenges at all.”

“Then we’re of much the same mind,” the roegadyn said. She turned toward the front of the guildhall once again.

“Wait,” Aeryn called. “What’s your name?”

The roegadyn looked over her shoulder and smiled. “I’m Dark Autumn,” she replied.

Aeryn nodded. “Aeryn Striker.”

“Pleasure to meet you properly,” Dark replied, before continuing on her way.


	6. Sanctum

She really ought to come here more often.

She had only the vaguest memories of the stone chapel from her childhood village, quaint and rustic, though to a little girl it had seemed enormous; certainly the biggest building she had known then. Everything looked large to one so small.

It had had a little vegetable garden, she recalled, where the priest grew a few things for his own meals. He also kept flowers, though, and coaxed flowering ivy to grow on trellises rather than in stone.

That chapel was long gone, only snow and wind finding what was left, if anything

The cathedrals of Ishgard soared into the sky, ancient and serious, their stained glass glittering in the sunlight, their stones stained with centuries of city soot. They grew from the rest of the greys of the city, tall and cold, their bells ringing through the air to call parishioners to service.

The cathedrals of Ishgard groaned under the weight of centuries and the lies that had been told within their walls for too long, leaving them cold and empty.

But here, in the midst of the East Shroud, the Sanctum nestled among the trees, gentle water teasing at its base, flowers growing riotously where they pleased. The Gridanian method of cultivation was to let nature have its way; they merely trimmed and guided, and worked their own creations around the plants.

It made for a lovely place to relax, to just take in the woodland sounds, the scents wafted in by the breeze, and allow one’s eyes to take in the details, always finding something new, as the forest was ever changing.

It lived up to its name, she thought. Under the sign of the Twelve, leaning on the old, flower-covered pillar, she felt only warmth and safety.


	7. Wanting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uses some dialogue from the DRK quest “Declaration of Blood.”

_“…But she too has a voice… **I will be heard** …”_

Aeryn was still reeling from the communion. Fray stared out at the water.

“Who are you really?” Aeryn demanded, turning to her armored companion.

Fray’s eyes flicked her way, before looking back to the horizon. “You already know.”

Aeryn frowned. “That isn’t an answer.”

“Then maybe you aren’t ready after all,” Fray sighed. “This whole mess with the merchant and the qiqirn has just proven my point.”

It was difficult to breathe, recalling the scene. “He deserved it, every word. But one ingrate doesn’t mean everyone’s taking advantage.”

“Doesn’t it? Perhaps he’s simply more honest than everyone else, fawning and offering faint praise—until you’re no longer of use to them. Until they’d rather drive you from their halls, your companions lost until you’re alone and exiled—“

“Stop it!” Aeryn hissed, hugging herself and turning away, the memories of the Banquet and its aftermath still fresh.

“We could leave,” Fray whispered, standing close at her shoulder. “Forget this realm, forget being the savior everyone needs until they don’t anymore. Be free—like how it was meant to be, just adventurers. Not heroes.”

She looked at the outstretched hand, thought of taking it and boarding the ship docked at the end of the quay bound for gods only knew where. To leave with Fray and be a simple adventurer again, the way she and Zaine had always planned. Fray wasn’t her brother, yet felt so familiar and comfortable…

Tataru and Alphinaud were waiting for her at Dragonhead.

Fray wasn’t her brother.

Her fingers trembled as her hand hovered over Fray’s waiting gauntlet. Aeryn could feel the frown even through the helm her companion wore. “Please, Aeryn. You stand at the precipice, but do not fear the fall. Cast yourself into the abyss, and you shall soar above, free at last.”

“Why do you do this?” She whispered.

The helm tilted. “Do what?”

“Make me want things I can’t have.”

Fray sighed again. “You could. If you wanted them badly enough.” The offered hand dropped. “There are other lands than these, Aeryn–lands where we are not known. Ask, and we shall quit this place forever.”

“Alphinaud and Tataru are relying on me. We have to find the others.”

“So you say.” Fray turned away. “Only when you have renounced everything are you free to do anything. When we meet again, you will give us your answer.”

Once again, Aeryn tried to pinpoint the moment Fray left, but it seemed like in an eye-blink she was alone on the street back to the aetheryte.

She ignored the side-long glances and outright stares from the various Maelstrom and Yellowjackets. Word must have spread. Or perhaps it was the qiqirn blood still damp on her leather armor.

She should clean up before returning to the Falling Snows. The others had been nagging at her enough lately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt went an unexpected direction, but it let me pinpoint a few new things for Aeryn’s story. Like in that time between the Banquet and entering Ishgard, perhaps finding a certain fallen knight tossed outside the city instead of left in the Brume. Like the RDM quests and when she met X'rhun, I toy with how/when she completed various other job quests, or at least interacted with those NPCs.


	8. Cuddling Type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I didn’t know you were the cuddling type.”_

Aeryn almost dropped the plates and silverware she was carrying to the sink. “Pardon?” She managed to sputter as she set them on the counter.

Tataru smirked as she got onto the step stool, rolling back her sleeves. “You and our gracious host,” she said, testing the warmth of the dishwater. Finding it satisfactory, she reached for the silverware. “You just seemed rather…cozy, when I happened to get up early this morning.”

Aeryn was fairly certain her face matched the red of her shirt; it certainly felt as warm as the Bowl of Embers. “We talked, late. I fell asleep on the couch. So did he, not wanting to disturb. That’s all.”

“Curled up against his side, his arm around you…”

Aeryn ground her teeth and placed a plate on the counter with far more force than she had intended. For a mercy, it didn’t crack.

“All right, all right,” Tataru said. Her teasing tone softened. “Honestly though, Lord Haurchefant really is quite the gentleman, and cares for you a lot. Certainly talks about you enough, singing your praises to any who–”

“Enough,” Aeryn said. “Please.” She rubbed her forehead.

Tataru looked up with a frown. “What’s the matter? I’m sorry for teasing, but really, I’m just glad you’ve found someone to lean on. Literally.”

Aeryn shook her head. “That’s…that’s all, really. I mean.” She paused. Her face still felt over-warm.

Tataru scrubbed a plate while she thought. “You care about him, yes?”

Aeryn nodded.

“And he certainly cares about you. Even Alphinaud’s beginning to catch on. There’s nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed over.”

“It’s not what you think,” Aeryn replied quietly. “It’s not…like that.” Not for herself, anyway; she realized she had not actually considered his intentions, and between what Tataru said now and looking back over everything…

Oh. _Oh, godsdammit_.

Aeryn sighed. “Maybe a little like that,” she amended.

Tataru peered at her for an uncomfortably long moment. “Maaaaybe you ought to have a talk with him, if you’re not certain.”

Aeryn stared at the sudsy dishwater. “I don’t want to hurt him. But…” She shook her head and flicked a hand dismissively.

“Oh no; use your words!” Tataru admonished. “‘But’ what, Aeryn?”

She huffed. And hesitated. She looked to make sure no one else was within earshot, and still answered in a very low voice. “…I want to make sure what I feel is my own, I don’t want to feel…like I’m just…. _trying_ to reciprocate.” To be what was expected, even if she didn’t feel exactly the same.

“Seems all the more reason to have a talk, then,” Tataru said, smiling up at her. “Maybe over a nice mug of cocoa. But perhaps leave the cuddling for later–or out entirely, if need be.”

Aeryn nodded.

Tataru looked down. “I know I’m not your first choice to talk about such things with,” she said quietly. “But I hope I can fill in, until we find Yda and the others.”

Aeryn paused, setting down the next plate. She leaned over and hugged Tataru. The lalafell stiffened in surprise, then returned the hug with a surprising fierceness.

“You’re not just filling in,” Aeryn assured her. “Thank you, Tataru.”

“Maybe you are the cuddly type after all,” Tataru answered with a giggle as they parted. “And you’re very welcome. Now, shall we finish these dishes so we can rejoin Alphinaud and Lord Haurchefant?” She gasped. “Oh, at this rate they’re sure to have completed their chores first! I will have lost my bet with our host!”

Aeryn laughed. “We can still manage to beat them, and earn you some Fortemps gil.”

They returned to their task, the talk turning to far more innocuous topics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aeryn and Haurchefant's relationship falls into the realm of "it's complicated" and is one of her regrets later on.


	9. The Fury's Love

_“Of the Fury’s love will all men receive, and by the balance of Her spear will all be set free.”_

“I haven’t thought of Halone much, since leaving as a child. Sounds terrible, perhaps, and maybe even heretical, but when Father died, so did any concern of following Ishgard’s religion. Mother’s people have their own faith, but her family wasn’t very religious. 

“I can’t remember much of my childhood catechism, but love didn’t feel like much of a factor; glory in battle, raging against dragons, stories of saints–there was love there, I suppose, in stories of men and women who gave all for their families, their lovers, their nation. But from Her?

“She felt cold.

“Then I helped the students at the Scholasticate, and they introduced me to new scriptures I had never heard, or didn’t remember. And I have to wonder.

“Does She love us? Or do we project our need for love onto Her? Would She even see a wayward child like me?

“Or would Halone dismiss me, as other gods have, because of the Mother’s own touch, and Her…supposed…love for me?”


	10. Fast Learner

“Again,” Ilberd ordered, sword at the ready.

Aeryn took a breath and attacked, stepping in and knowing now how he would try to baffle her strike if she came in straight on, slid slightly to the left to engage his parry, catching the blade and forcing him a step back.

He looked surprised, and then laughed. “Oh well done!” he exclaimed. “Few have managed to counter that, let alone after only seeing it twice.” He recovered and swung low.

Aeryn blocked. “I’m a fast learner,” she replied.

“So I’ve heard. I shall have to keep it in mind.” He parried her next attack, his blade spinning quickly in a riposte she had not expected from someone wielding such a heavy blade. Aeryn found herself disarmed, hands up in surrender.

Ilberd grinned and lowered his blade. “But I still have a few tricks for you, Scion.”

* * *

“I hereby accuse you of regicide!” Teledji spat. “Men–arrest this viper!”

Ilberd and the others came for her. She was still reeling, Nanamo’s small body laying on the ground but fulms away, the wine spreading and staining the carpet.

This was wrong, this was _all wrong_ …

Ilberd reached out to grab her. “Come along, traitorous witch,” he snarled. Gone was the friendly captain she had trained with and worked alongside these last few moons.

Aeryn wrenched away, knocking the chair over in her haste to put space between her and the Crystal Braves. “You know me better than this!”

“Do I?” Ilberd’s voice was cold and calm. There was calculation and knowledge in his face, in the whisper of his mind. He was not surprised by any of this.

None of them were.

Now she knew why her Echo senses had pinged danger from moment Nanamo had lifted that cup.

She drew her sword. “I’m not playing this game,” she spat.

Ilberd shoved the table aside, his own blade ready. She charged forward, hoping to catch him off-guard. She shifted slightly to the left to catch his parry–

–and cursed as she realized too late she had walked into his bluff, his blade spinning around hers and knocking it from her grasp, the tip of his sword pressed against her throat. She felt a trickle of blood where the sharpened edge broke skin.

“Never did learn _that_ one,” Ilberd said with a smirk. “Bind her. _Tightly_ ,” he ordered. “Bring her blade as further proof of her treachery, resisting lawful arrest.”

“I hope you fall into the Seventh Hell,” she snarled as she was trussed.

“We’ll see whose light fades today, _Scion_.” It was the first time she heard him say the word like it was a curse.

* * *

The air in Halatali was still thick with the remnants of the poison gas. Aeryn was too aware of Raubahn gasping for clean breath behind them as Yugiri drew her blades and Alphinaud conjured a new carbuncle.

Across the sandy arena, the Crystal Braves came at them. “Come, _Scions_ ,” Ilberd snarled. “Let’s get this over with.”

 _Gladly_ , Aeryn thought as she drew on the rage burning in her chest to throw into a devastating fire spell at her opponents.

It didn’t take long to clear the chaff. Alphinaud had Laurentius busy, while Yugiri was deftly handling Yuyuhase–leaving Ilberd to Aeryn.

She rushed forward, magic enhancing her attacks as she slid to the right, ignoring the bluff and taking a blow to her side, the chain mesh woven between the leather of her jacket catching most of the impact while she got in her own weak hit. When they swung again, she recognized the angle of his arms, the change in his footwork. Aeryn parried, turning the spin around to baffle his blade instead, and stabbing him in a riposte he had not been expecting.

Ilberd cried out in pain, and his fellows faltered, the remaining Braves falling back.

Aeryn grinned nastily. “See? I’m a fast learner,” she reminded him.

“This changes nothing!” Ilberd spat, as the battle ended.

* * *

She never had a chance to try to reason with the Griffin before he simply attacked, coming at her with his blade drawn. Aeryn parried the first blow, and the second, not getting the chance to make a decisive hit as they danced back and forth across the airship landing.

Through it all, she couldn’t help but think there was something familiar in his build, his fighting form, his taunting voice obscured by the stylized mask.

He swung in for a strike and she made to parry–but recognized the shift in his arm, the change in his footwork. At the last moment she flicked her wrist _out_ instead of _in_ , spinning his blade and disarming him, before landing the hit needed to drop him, the mask falling from his face.

“I learned that one awhile ago,” she reminded Ilberd as he panted at her feet.

“You’ve beaten me, aye…But I still have a few tricks for you, _Scion_ , and you cannot stop what I’ve begun.”


	11. Blood

She coughed and red splatted on the dirt, her mouth coated in the coppery tang of it.

That wasn’t a good sign.

She could hear familiar, frightened voices screaming her name, somewhere far from her and the ringing in her ears.

Zenos threw down his broken blade. “Pathetic.” Then he simply walked away.

Aeryn tried to stand, but her midsection was on fire and folding in on itself, and she had the hysterical thought that such damage to her diaphragm could affect her singing. Her hands were sticky as she held them against the wound, futilely trying to keep her blood inside where it belonged.

As he passed her she looked up, past the scuffed ground and the broken katana to where Y’shtola lay, Lyse clinging to her. The conjurer’s normally white coat was soaked as red as Lyse’s vest, and Y’shtola was far too still and pale.

“That’s…a lot of blood,” Aeryn rasped, the pain of her own wounds fading to the background as fear and rage roared in her mind like a dragon’s song and she tried to get up go after him stand up _she had to_ —

Raubahn and the Adder healers reached her before she could find her feet again. Zenos was gone, but the bleeding in Rhalgr’s Reach had only begun.


	12. Campfire

The sudden weight of a musty blanket dropped on her shoulders made Aeryn blink. Her eyes suddenly stung from the smoke, and she rubbed at them, the campfire and day’s travel forming dirt in the corners of her eyes.

“Hope you don’t mind the smell of horse,” Gosetsu said as he sat to her left, opposite the direction of where the smoke was currently billowing. “‘Twas all the Dotharl would spare.”

“It’s fine, thank you,” she answered, drawing the blanket close. Sadu would not grant them falcons to travel back to the Dawn Throne, and they did not have access to their yols, the whistles among the items temporarily confiscated by the Oronir. And so they made their way across the Steppe on foot, camping at one of the lamp-lit waypoints that dotted the rolling plains.

The shadow of the Dawn Throne rose on the horizon, distant pinpricks of light visible if she strained until her eyes protested again. They would reach it in the morning, make their report, and gods willing Magnai would let them and their friends go.

If not, Aeryn was done with the would-be Sun’s games, and he would know it.

“You are a woman easily lost in her thoughts,” Gosetsu said, taking a swig from his wineskin. He offered it to Aeryn, but she shook her head; he needed that rice wine far more than she.

“I’ve been told that. Sorry, Gosetsu; I’m afraid it makes me a poor travel companion.”

“Nay, my friend; you’re a good listener, and haven’t heard most of my stories multiple times already!” He laughed, and she couldn’t help but grin in return; his good nature was far too infectious. “Though the hour grows late, and we still have a few malms to go to free our friends.”

He began to stand, but Aeryn was far quicker than the old roegadyn. “I can take first watch,” she volunteered. “You get some rest; I’ll wake you in a few bells.”

“You were already rubbing your eyes,” he pointed out.

“Just grit from the smoke. If anything, I ought to walk around a bit. Especially now that I won’t be so cold,” she said with a smile, still holding the blanket around her shoulders. The Steppe wasn’t quite as chilly as a night in Thanalan or Coerthas, but it wasn’t so warm as it had been during the day, either.

“Bah; have it your way,” he grumbled, though she thought there may have been a thread of relief, squashed beneath his sense of duty and years of disciplined training. Still, he settled into his own borrowed blanket, leaning back against the worn stones of the lamp post. “Be sure to wake me when it’s my turn,” he said, giving her a stern look.

Aeryn nodded, and meant it; to do otherwise would only cause an issue with the samurai come morning.

She turned to look out over the Steppe while he slept, the cool evening breeze making her eyes water differently than the campfire had, a relief after the smoke.

Later, Aeryn would often remember that quiet night, unusual for its lack of trouble or event. Yet the sting of campfire smoke in her eyes would draw her back to that time on the Steppe before the Nadaam, when it was just her and Gosetsu. It took quite some time before she figured out just why she always mused over that evening, and with a tinge of regret.

She really ought to have asked him for more stories.


	13. Sanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"When this is all over, I want my sanity back."_

Aeryn looked at Shigure and shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s an option.”

“Well it’s not the first time you’ve dealt with the Inspector, right?”

“Oh no; we’ve had quite a few adventures together.”

“You don’t seem as…well…” He couldn’t think of a polite way to state it.

“Neither Hildi nor Nashu are insane,” Aeryn said firmly. “Though circumstances around them are often…bizarre. Even by my standards.”

“I’ve…heard some stories,” Shigure admitted. “Why does such a warrior, a champion, take the time for something so simple as this?”

“What about this investigation is _simple_ , Shigure?”

“I mean…it just doesn’t seem like it’s worthy of your time—“

She held up a hand, stopping him. He noted her deep frown. “Helping people is _always_ worth the time,” Aeryn finally said. She smiled a little. “And Hildi’s belief in that is stronger than anyone’s. He’s not the most…intellectual person I know, but he does have the biggest heart, and an…emotional wisdom most don’t give him credit for. He finds joy and good wherever he goes, in whatever company he finds himself.”

“You find all this…fun,” Shigure realized, blinking in disbelief. “The running around, the nonsense…the bombs…”

Aeryn laughed. “I do! It’s…it’s different, certainly. I deal with enough realm-shattering consequences. Helping Hildi and Nashu is…it reminds me of some important things, besides my usual troubles. It reminds me how utterly absurd life can be, and how that’s not a bad thing.” She gave a little, sheepish shrug. “It reminds me to laugh.”

Tataru called her name, and Aeryn gave Shigure a wave before walking away to join her tiny companion, leaving the samurai to consider her words.


	14. Blush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Sometime after patch 4.4...))

_“For Gods’ sake, Thancred, leave the woman alone,” Y’shtola said, green eyes rolling.  
_

_“You’re just jealous,” the bard teased. “Since I stopped trying to make you blush long ago.”  
_

_“Because it’s not possible,” Minfilia giggled. “Y’shtola is far too refined for such things.”  
_

_“Hmph,” Y’shtola tossed her head, but couldn’t quite hide the twitch at the corners of her lips. “In any case, just because it’s an easy thing to make Aeryn blush, doesn’t mean you should.”  
_

_“Oh, now you’re just challenging him,” Papalymo sighed.  
_

_“An excellent point, Papalymo,” Thancred said. “And you know, I do think Lady Lisette shall be having her annual affair in a few weeks. A perfect opportunity to make you all–even Y’shtola–blush like the lovely maids you are.”_

* * *

That day in the Waking Sands seemed so long ago; before the wars in Ala Mhigo and Doma, the horrible night on Baelsar’s Wall, the end of the Dragonsong War, the Banquet in Ul’dah. So much had changed over the many moons and turns of the sun since those early days among the Scions.

It was still rather easy to make Aeryn blush. She only wished her friends were around to try and make her.


	15. The Parley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the recess in the parley between the Alliance and Garlemald, Aeryn has an unexpected conversation with His Radiance. _Stormblood_ 4.5 "A Requiem for Heroes"

“We have time before these negotiations resume,” Merlwyb said. “I suggest we stretch our legs and clear our heads before meeting with the Emperor again, now we have a firmer strategy.” The others readily agreed.

Nanamo grabbed Alisaie’s attention about another matter, leaving Aeryn free to slip outside. She waved past the Alliance guards to go a short way down the path to a small, rocky clearing she had noticed earlier. Both forces’ camps sat on either side, but straight forward were the dark hills and valleys of Ghimlyt. Not the most calming or picturesque view she had ever beheld, but more open and empty than a tent full of politicians and soldiers.

The footfall of a man in heavy armor was unmistakable, and she looked back to see who had followed, blinking in surprise at an unaccompanied Emperor Varis, his guards left several yalms away. “I had hoped for a chance to speak privately,” he said.

Aeryn stood stiffly, watching him. “I wondered at your request for my presence. I’m not much for politics—my skills lie elsewhere.”

“I am well aware.” He tromped up alongside her, his own gaze looking over the landscape. “I wanted to take more of your measure, given our last meeting was cut short.”

Aeryn shrugged. She turned back to the scenery.

Varis frowned. “No accusation or rejoinders? Or have you learned the futility of such from your leaders?”

She disliked how he said that, but kept herself neutral. “There’s no point. We were both there.” Her Echo caught a whisper, as she remembered who else had been in Ok’Zundu that day. “But you weren’t there,” she added quietly. “When we faced Zurvan.”

It was his turn to stiffen and Aeryn almost found that impressive, given how rigid the man already was by nature. “I have heard the tale from my soldiers. But I would hear it from you, eikon slayer.”

“We fought back and forth across Azys Lla in the course of our research into the Warring Triad,” Aeryn began bluntly. “As we did, it became apparent that the failsafes the Allagans built into the facility had been purposely sabotaged from the beginning, to allow the imprisoned eikons their freedom. A plot of the goddess Sophia’s followers, hoping to rain her and Bahamut’s wrath both upon the old empire. That didn’t happen, and so they waited for four thousand years.”

“Until the Archbishop’s foolhardiness woke them, and drew our attentions to Azys Lla and its potential,” he said.

“Its nightmares,” she answered. “The creatures and machina remaining are twisted. Little good can come from what torments they inflicted on others.”

“Perhaps you are lacking imagination. A debate for another time,” Varis continued, almost hurriedly as she glowered up at him. “I wish to know about Zurvan, not the lesser creations of Allag.”

Aeryn grit her teeth and gazed out across the fields again. “The archons set wards to keep Garlean soldiers out of the facility. But the damage done by Sophia’s minions had been enough. Even only half-awake, the Demon’s power broke our wards.”

She looked to Varis again. “That’s when van Hydrus came to us. Our prior clashes had ended in stalemate and escape. That time, he asked for our aid. His soldiers were struggling to keep Zurvan’s minions from waking their master, despite the risk to their own minds—and when we arrived, many had been turned, fighting their own squad mates.”

_The floors slick with blood, the screaming sounds of those centaur-like beings, the guttural roar of the eikon itself as it half-woke, Regula’s weapon cleaved in twain…_

“How did Regula die?” Varis asked when she was quiet for too long.

Aeryn took a moment to clear her throat. “There were...aether collectors, to feed Zurvan and grant him strength. We had to disable them. But only three of us could get close: myself, another Scion with the Echo, and a boy who also bears the Blessing—our expert on the Warring Triad.” She noted his ever-deepening frown but continued.

“The archons tended to the wounded, trying to get as many as possible away from the eikon. Krile and I fought our way through and broke our generators, but Unukalhai was hesitant. For all his knowledge and skill, he’s still a child. So the Legatus dove into the fray to protect the boy and destroy the generator. Which he did--But Zurvan had awoken enough to take a swing to defend his thralls. His sword broke Regula’s. And…” Aeryn stopped, realizing she was hugging herself as she remembered.

Before Varis could speak she continued, letting her arms drop to her sides. “His last words were that he believed the Echo to be the only true way to destroy eikons, and so judged Unukalhai’s life more valuable than his own. He...spoke of you, what you did for him, and how he gladly gave his all in service. And he bade us complete our mission, end Zurvan’s threat.” She met Varis’ cold, dark gaze. “So I did.”

They were silent for a long moment. “Thank you,” the emperor finally replied. “The reports said much the same.”

“You thought I would lie about what happened?”

“No. All reports name you an honest woman. As I said: I simply wished to hear it from you.”

“I...I am sorry. For...I wish things had turned out differently.”

“Perhaps next time you won’t take a child onto a battlefield.”

She frowned up at him. “Believe me; I didn’t want to. But we don’t have a choice. And you don’t know all the circumstances. Unukalhai’s no ordinary boy.”

“But he is a boy. Unused to battle, and so one of our best, my onl--” Varis paused, taking a breath to collect himself. “You wonder why we call you savages, when you justify such.”

Aeryn bristled. “You have no room to talk. The empire’s no stranger to child soldiers--but I suppose they don’t matter if they aren’t Garlean.” She bit her tongue before mentioning the Resonatorium.

His lips pulled back in a sort of grin. “There’s the anger I expected. Nor are you above the same tit-for-tat as your leaders after all.”

“We can spit facts at one another all day. It doesn’t change anything.” Aeryn clenched her fists to stop their trembling--and the urge to throw a punch. That would be a helluva thing to do at a negotiation. Her eyes snapped up to his again. “Or are you _trying_ to goad me?”

“Hrmph. No,” he said emphatically, and she believed him. “But we should each return to our respective camps, and make preparations for said negotiations to continue.”

Aeryn took a shaky breath as she stepped back. She did not trust herself to speak--she had no conscious idea what to say--so merely nodded, not looking away from him.

After a long, awkward moment, he finally broke eye contact and turned, stalking back to his guards, armor clinking with each weighty step. Aeryn waited until he was out of sight before returning to the Alliance side.

Lyse was waiting for her near the large tent set up for the parley. “There you are!” She exclaimed, relieved. “Were you talking to Varis just now? Or was I imagining things?”

Aeryn shook her head. “Not imagining. He was asking about Regula van Hydrus, and the Warring Triad.”

“The legatus of the VIth Legion?” Lyse looked down. “Honestly, I’d forgotten; you ended up working with him in the end, right? He saved Unukalhai.”

“And I told the emperor so,” Aeryn admitted. “According to some of Regula’s soldiers, he was Varis’ friend.” She frowned, looking toward the Garlean lines. “Maybe his only one.”

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry for ‘His Radiance’?”

Aeryn scoffed. “Hardly. More...understanding, I think. Or trying to. What would that do to a person; to have only one other that you could trust and rely on?”

“And then lose them?” Lyse finished. They exchanged concerned looks, before Lyse let out a deep breath. “I think that’s enough sympathizing with the devil for one day. Come on; the others are waiting.”

* * *

The Alliance representatives were stunned by Varis’ candor and zealous proclamations. Aeryn could barely hear the others' responses, thinking instead of Gaius Baelsar’s own impassioned speech as they had ridden the lift down to the Ultima Weapon.

He had called Eorzea a land riddled with falsehoods, lies propped up by weak leaders to placate a weaker populace. But if what Varis said about the first emperor--his own grandfather!--was true, if everything about the Imperial agenda was just another scheme of the Paragons...

Nanamo’s certain voice began to cut through the haze. Aeryn focused on the Sultana, her own surprise giving way to pride in the young ruler, how far she had come since their first meeting under the Sultantree.

“And you, Warrior of Light?” the Emperor demanded. “Would you refuse me as well?”

Aeryn felt everyone’s eyes turn her way. She wished they wouldn’t; the attention was as smothering as an Ul’dahn heatwave.

She met Varis’ gaze. “Your prize is a lie and your masters demons,” she said bluntly. “I’ll stop you and the Ascians--no matter what.”

He sneered. “I thought you had more sense. Don’t you see? Regula was right! The Echo is crucial not only to ridding the world of eikons, but in saving it entirely--returning it to its original, natural state. That is what the Ascians mean--and what they fear in you.”

Aeryn glared. “Regula died because he believed another’s life worth more than his own--his last words were of service, of stopping the eikons and their followers from causing a Calamity, not helping them bring more about! If you think after all we’ve struggled through and accomplished, that I would ever agree to mass murder, then you didn’t ‘take my measure’ at all. I’ll defend Eorzea--this entire world--from your madness with everything I have.”

It was more than she usually said at such meetings, and she felt her friends’ eyes on her even as she and Varis glared at one another.

“It would seem the Alliance is of one mind on this matter,” Nanamo said firmly.

The meeting ended as Aeryn had assumed--despite all hope--that it would. She kept her eyes on Varis until he had swept out to bring the Empire's hammer down upon Eorzea for their defiance.

She wished, once again, that events in Azys Lla had ended differently. Perhaps losing his singular friend had left Varis no one else to discuss matters with, had left him open to the Ascians’ manipulations and the wild idea that any scheme was worth it to defeat them at their own game.

Thinking back to the empty bodies currently in the Rising Stones’ infirmary, Aeryn could almost understand such desperation.

 _Almost_.

She joined her comrades as they prepared for war.


	16. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aeryn chats with her fellow red mage apprentice

“We’re all worried, you know.”

“Krile and Master Matoya are looking into the affliction, between them–”

“We’re worried about _you_.”

“…I’m fine, Arya.”

“Sure. The General just ordered you home to rest, all your friends are in lifeless slumber, but you’re _fine_. You realize you don’t have to be so strong and stoic all the time, don’t you?”

“Trust me, I’m not. Besides, it’s not _all_ of my friends.”

“I’m sorry my studies aren’t progressing faster, so I could be more help. I’m trying to contact X’rhun; maybe he’ll know something.”

“If not, I bet he knows someone who does.”

“It does seem like he knows _everyone_ , doesn’t he?”

“He’s only the friendliest man in Eorzea. But thank you, Arya. For doing what you can. And just…being here.”

“Your friendship saved my life. This is the very least I can do in return.”


	17. Loyal and Stubborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Stormblood_ 4.55, "A Requiem for Heroes."

“You need only say the word,” she told Raubahn. “So long as you leave the Ascian to me.”

Lyse was facing that monster now. If Hien was with her, then Yugiri would be there, too. Three friends and whatever soldiers available against the Ascian in Zenos’ body.

 _Let me go!_ This was what they always called on her for, wasn’t it? _  
_

Raubahn answered--she thought affirmative--as her skull was pierced. Something tried to pull at her, but she was stuck fast. That Voice ( _why was it so familiar?!_ ) sounded frustrated now, calling to her but she couldn’t answer, couldn’t tell it to shut the hells up, to _give back her friends_ …

“What’s wrong? Is it the voice again?” Raubahn had caught her when she fell to the ground; the Bull moved fast.

“‘M fine,” Aeryn managed to gasp as her head cleared. She took a deep breath and pushed off Raubahn’s arm, wobbling to her feet. “See? Still conscious.”

He peered at her, still crouching. It was almost comical given how tall he was, only a little below her eye-line now instead of a fulm and a half above. “Are you sure you’re in a fit state to do this?”

If she said no, he would go himself. She couldn’t allow that. Ala Mhigo needed him. Pipin and Nanamo--even a nation away--needed him. Eorzea needed its General.

Aeryn nodded. “I'll get to Lyse and the others. I’m going to stop him.”

“May Rhalgr grant us strength,” Raubahn said. He stood. “Give them hell, lass. I, for my part, will defend this place to my dying breath.”

 _I won’t let it come to that._ She gave him a salute and then spun around, sprinting as fast as she could out of the camp toward the eastern line, toward her friends and the Paragon wearing Zenos’ face.

* * *

Raubahn watched her go. He had seen the storms flash in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands clenched. He knew the stress and uncertainty the Scions were under. Yet what choice did they have? Only to ask too much of her, again, as always.

He had fought his own stab of fear and anger at her pain, as she had nearly fallen to that same mysterious voice that had stolen her fellows away.

And still she ran to fight, for the sake of her friends and their realm.

“Some days I wonder what will get you killed first – your loyalty or your stubbornness,” he muttered as his eyes tracked her red coat, a beacon on the field, until a hill obscured his view.

In truth, Raubahn could not fault her; he would do the same.

“Halone, keep your daughter safe,” he prayed under his breath as he strode toward his waiting troops.

Raubahn could not fight for Aeryn, but he could at least support her in the battles she fought for them.


	18. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt response, Stormblood 4.5.

Estinien had always thought Aeryn many things: tough, quiet, strong, witty, easily embarrassed. She could be infuriating and comforting and had somehow, without him realizing it, become a fixed position in his life; a sister in arms and in heart, and a rare person with the understanding of why, exactly, he had named his spear what he did, how he felt about his old enemy.

He had never once–not on their first meeting in a snowy camp in Coerthas, not when he had lost control and attacked her and Alberic, not even when she was a sobbing mess upon the Vault’s battlements–ever thought of her as small. As fragile.

Yet lifting her unconscious form in his arms, that was what it seemed. As if she had fallen into herself, her wounds obvious but nothing that should have left her in this state. He had prevented the killing blow and the enemy was retreating. She should be all right.

She did not even stir.

Aeryn was tall for a midlander woman, yet still so much shorter than a grown elezen maid. Even in her battle gear, she seemed to weigh next to nothing. He cradled her close and leapt.

He landed as carefully as he could, startling Alliance soldiers. His eyes sought and quickly found the Temple Knights among them. “The Lord Commander and the chirugeons–quickly!” He barked. The soldiers snapped to obey, the Adders and Flames scrambling to respond to an officer’s command as well.

Estinien looked again at the woman in his arms. “Aeryn,” he plead quietly. “Wake up.”

Rumors said the other senior Scions were caught in a fell torpor. Had Aeryn fallen prey to it as well?

She finally stirred, muttering something unintelligible as she struggled, and he nearly sighed with relief. He held her fast, now concerned she might further hurt herself. “I’ve got you, you’re safe,” he murmured.

Perhaps she heard, as she soon settled again, still muttering wordlessly, sweat on her brow, blood seeping through her coat.

“Estinien!” Aymeric called, rushing over, eyes widening. “Halone’s grace–Aeryn!”

Transitioning Aeryn to Aymeric’s arms was a seamless matter. “The Ascian did this,” Estinien said shortly.

After a second’s study, a level of tension left Aymeric’s face as Aeryn continued to stir, too weak to truly thrash. “This isn’t like the others,” he said with some relief. The Knights’ chirugeons were coming, as well as some of the Adder conjurers. Aymeric looked up. “Estinien—”

“There’s more to be done,” Estinien interrupted, drawing his helm on. He did not want to show his own concern; seeing Aymeric’s was difficult enough.

Aeryn would have something to say about that, Estinien thought, were she conscious.

Estinien paused to briefly rest his hand once more on her head. “She’ll be all right,” he said. A promise. A warning. A hope.

Before Aymeric could say more, Estinien leapt again.


	19. Connected

“I’m sorry. I should have been faster,” Aeryn murmured, pulling the brush through Lyse’s long hair. Her friend was sitting at the table where she kept her few grooming and cosmetic implements, and Aeryn had offered to help fix Lyse’s hair when recovery weariness had set in.

“You were fast enough,” Lyse answered. “I wish I were stronger–but then, Ascians cheat.” She turned her head to look at Aeryn, interrupting the brushing. “Are _you_ all right?”

Aeryn nodded. “I feel better, but with the fighting at a stalemate, and our allies still searching for this beacon, I’m just…waiting.”

“Neither of us has ever been good at that,” Lyse said, smiling.

It was infectious, and soon Aeryn was grinning back. “True; I keep trying to see if there’s anything other friends need of me…” she shrugged.

“Before you leave,” Lyse said bluntly. She shook her head as Aeryn frowned. “No use denying it, that’s what has to happen–whatever this cloaked man wants, he’s taken our friends, and the only way to get them back is to play his game and follow to where this beacon leads.”

“The First, he said,” Aeryn whispered. “It seems surreal. The Warriors of Darkness came from there, but it’s supposed to be destroyed.”

“But Minfilia went there to save it, right?” Lyse said. “Maybe the others have already met with her. That would make Thancred happy.”

“It would,” Aeryn agreed. “But nothing’s that simple, and I don’t know what this cloaked man wants.” _Or why he seems so familiar_. She hadn’t told anyone that, and why it bothered her. She felt like she ought to know that voice…

“You’ll figure it out, and you’ll bring them home,” Lyse said confidently. “I wish I could go with you.”

“You’re still recovering, and I’m pretty sure this transfer is a single ticket regardless.”

“I know, I know, I just…feel useless, sitting around for so long. I’ve only just been allowed to exercise again, to get my strength back, but I’m being watched like a hawk to make sure I don’t overdo it.” Lyse sighed heavily. Like she had overdone it today—but she had already heard enough about that from the healers.

“And meanwhile, you’re doing the bulk of the Resistance’s paperwork–or are those piles things you’d neglected beforehand and have no recourse to avoid them now?” Aeryn teased.

“Oh, no fair,” Lyse pouted. “…Aaaand a little of both, to be completely honest.” She grinned though, when her admission made Aeryn giggle. “I did find at least one way to distract myself, though,” Lyse continued, reaching into a drawer. “Close your eyes!”

Aeryn obliged, wondering just what Lyse had in mind this time. She felt Lyse’s calloused hands take hers, putting two smooth, cool somethings into Aeryn’s own palm. “All right, you can look now!”

Aeryn opened her eyes and looked at what was in her hand. A pair of earrings, familiar in their red and blue colors and dangling shape, rested in her palm. She looked up, noting the earrings were still in their familiar place on Lyse’s own lobes.

Lyse grinned in delight. “I had a matching set made, just for you! To…well, to remember, I guess. A way to keep us close, no matter how far you go.”

“Lyse,” Aeryn was unable to say anything else, her throat suddenly thick and eyes stinging. She settled for reaching out to embrace her friend, until she could finally choke out a “Thank you.”

“I’ll be praying for you,” Lyse said as she hugged Aeryn tightly in return. “Find our friends, bring them home. And know we’re here, waiting for you, rooting for you, always. Just…come home, all right?”

Aeryn pulled away, nodding woodenly. Lyse smiled, watching as Aeryn put on the earrings. “I should let you get more rest—or back to your paperwork,” Aeryn said. Lyse sighed heavily, but nodded as Aeryn got up, giving her friend one last shoulder-squeeze as she passed by and left the room.

* * *

Light gleamed at her cracking edges, her skin felt thin and ready to burn away. Even the dark, dank cool of the Tempest’s floor couldn’t give her relief.

The city was dark and tall, oddly familiar—like a half-remembered dream from nights past. The buildings were too perfect, the streets too clean, everything just too much, and she was alone, trudging to the bureau while everyone else looked for alternative methods to enter the capitol.

Well, mostly alone. Ardbert was walking next to her, silent so long as she was, observing everything.

Aeryn looked up as they came to the doors. The metal and glass gleamed in the strange light filtering down through the waters above. As she reached for the doors to trigger their opening, she paused, catching her reflection in the glass.

She looked awful; hair streaked with white, her eyes seemed coldly shiny, and her skin paler than usual, made all the more stark contrasted against her red jacket.

Dangling from her ears were the red and blue earrings, matching another pair worn by a dear friend a world away.

“Something wrong?” Ardbert asked as she stood, one hand half-raised to the door, staring at her reflection.

She let out a deep breath and smiled. “Reminded of what’s still right,” she answered.

His brow furrowed in confusion, but he stepped inside along with her as the doors swung open.


	20. Another's Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((This is an expansion of the [original prompt response](https://autumnslance.tumblr.com/post/187130732383/a-memory-that-never-fails-to-come-back-to-their).))

She was fairly certain it was not her memory. Yet it felt so…close. A dream she kept returning to, again and again and again.

She had seen other memories of Carteneau; the Alliance leaders, Cid Garlond’s; this recurring vision was…different.

The perspective was not that of Cid or the leaders, overseeing the battlefield. This perspective was on the ground, as the armies clashed. Blood and ceruleum smoke filled her nostrils. Her ears rang from explosions both mechanical and magical, the shouts of soldiers still fighting, the screams of the wounded. Sweat rolled down her face, down her back under her armor; she was covered in dirt, cut and bruised, muscles burning as her weapon swung and clashed with yet another Garlean gunblade.

The light on the field was a sickly red as Dalamud loomed, ever nearer. 

_We fought, we did everything we were supposed to, and still it came to this!_

The thought was not her own, the voice was familiar and yet…

The moon cracked, raining fire and giant shards of metal onto the battlefield and malms beyond. The primal’s roar set her bones to vibrating and her insides felt like watery jelly.

Soldiers of both sides broke and ran as burning metal continued to fall, along with the aetheric fire of the dragon’s rage. She remembered the despair, and the frustration, the resignation–they had failed, and now there was nowhere left to run, as Death itself loomed over the realm.

A light gleamed behind her, shielding her and her friends– _people she had known for months and years, knew better than she knew herself, and yet in these dreams she could never see their faces, **couldn’t remember**_ –from the monster’s blows. Louisoix looked small from this distance, but his determined stance stirred a sort of hope in her chest.

Alongside the rest of the world, she watched as the Archon attempted to rebind the Elder Primal–and alongside the rest of the world, she cried out when he failed.

An outstretched hand. An unheard spell. The symbol of Althyk…

The world whited out, fading to nothingness, and she was back to those early, familiar visions of Hydaelyn, the Calamity a distant memory and new threats on the horizon…

* * *

Aeryn awoke in her bed in the Pendants. The sky was blue and pink while the sun rose over Lakeland, a lavender haze hanging low over the woods as night gave way to morning.

“Are you all right?” Ardbert asked, shifting from one foot to another nearby; she wasn’t sure if he had been there all night, or had returned when he sensed her distress. “You were moaning in your sleep, and sweating buckets besides.”

“…What did you just say?”

“Huh? It just seemed like you were having some really bad nightmares–”

“No, you–nevermind,” she sat up the rest of the way and swung her feet to the floor. “Was a nightmare I haven’t had for awhile. Almost a relief, considering the newer ones.”

Like Tesleen. Like the Lightwardens already fought. Like Vauthry’s sin eaters attacking Lakeland. Like Y’shtola’s warnings. 

Aeryn looked up at her ghostly roommate. It was still so striking, how much Ardbert reminded her of her brother–the Source’s _first_ Warrior of Light, who had faced Nael van Darnus and tried to stop the Calamity, but vanished in its fires.

And so Hydaelyn had made Aeryn his _replacement_.

Would he have been strong enough to hold all this Light?

“What time is it?” She asked as she stood and began her morning stretches.

“Uh…” Ardbert looked toward the chronometer. “Not quite six yet. You’ve got time before meeting the others.” He started to head for the door, as he often did when she was getting ready.

“…Hey. Wanna stay? Least until I’m needing to wash up.”

He paused, glancing back, then shrugged. “If you’d like. Wanting to chit chat while you work out?”

“Something like that. Tell me more about some of your adventures with your friends.”

Ardbert nodded and crossed to the window to look out over Lakeland. After a few moments, he finally spoke again. “You know, I remember the first time we came here–long before the Crystarium, of course. It had been raining when we got to Laxan Loft that night, but in the morning the sky was clear like this and the view of the forest and lake was breathtaking…”

He soon fell into the easy tone of reminiscence, and Aeryn listened as she prepared for the day. 

Ardbert’s memories of his companions were easier to deal with than her brother’s memories of the Calamity. She found herself laughing as Ardbert told her--with no exaggeration, certainly, this happened entirely as he now claimed and Nyelbert was all the better for losing this drinking contest, honestly--until there was a knock on her door.

Aeryn crossed the few steps and cracked the door open. “Yes?”

Minf--no, Ryne now--smiled up at her. “I wanted to see how you’re feeling.”

Aeryn smiled back. “I’m doing all right, thank you. Is everyone already gathering?”

Ryne shook her now-red tressed head. “We’re about to have breakfast before meeting everyone in the Ocular; you’re welcome to join us!”

Aeryn peeked further down the hall. Thancred was in his usual lean-on-a-wall-acting-casual pose a couple yalms away, pretending to be bored and sleepy and not at all interested in her answer.

“If you two can wait a few minutes,” Aeryn replied, returning her attention to Ryne. “I just finished my morning warm-ups.”

“I don’t mind waiting!” Ryne replied, slightly louder than necessary. At his claimed piece of wall, Thancred sighed and shook his head with a smile and half-shrug.

“I’ll just be a moment,” Aeryn said, closing the door again.

“She seems eager to get the day started,” Ardbert said, pretending to lean on the wall by the door in a rather familiar manner.

Aeryn eyed him. “Are you mocking Thancred?”

“Maybe. Or maybe just trying to figure out why you seem to be so interested whenever he’s lounging about like this.”

“...Right, time for all ghost roommates to vanish, I need to clean up to meet the others, and I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Ardbert smirked and straightened. “There’s the blushing. Better than how you looked earlier, at any rate.”

She glanced at him as she set out her gear. “Was I really that bad?”

“Were the dreams?”

She paused. “You’re not letting it go, are you?”

“Distractions are well and good, but you’ve got work to do, _hero_ ,” he replied with a shrug and a slight emphasis on the last word. “I’ve seen you doubt yourself before.”

“You still remind me of him,” she said quietly, continuing to prepare. “I keep thinking, maybe he ought to be here instead. Doing all these impossible things.” _Holding all this Light_.

“Well he isn’t,” Ardbert said with jaded finality. “No more than my sister can be here--hells, she’d probably be years dead now, even without the Flood and sin eaters.” He shook his head. “ _You’re_ the one who is here now, doing all these impossibly heroic things. Warrior of Darkness.” He took on a wry tone at the end.

She threw a rolled up towel at him. It passed through his incorporeal form to land on the chair beyond. “Hey!” He pouted, arms outstretched--he had instinctively tried to catch it.

Aeryn smirked and shrugged. “Seemed warranted, and not like it can hurt you. But...you’re right. Thanks for listening.”

“It’s what I’m good for,” Ardbert replied dryly. He turned to leave, but paused. When he looked at her again, he smiled. “Enjoy breakfast with your friends. Those memories are worth more than any battlefield victory.”

She nodded in agreement as he walked through the door, to do whatever it was he did when not following her around. Aeryn picked up the towel she had thrown, looking out the window as she did.

It was a lovely morning in Lakeland, the sun shining over the purple landscape and making the Source shimmer as the shadows fled. Her nightmares felt further and further away; like the shadows, put away for another time.

She closed the window and turned to her bath. She had people to meet and a world to finish saving. Since she was the one here to do it.

That nightmare would not become reality here. Not if she could help it.

But first, breakfast, with people she could not imagine ever forgetting.


	21. Comfort Food

As they made their way back across the amber sands, Alisaie was startled by Aeryn suddenly speaking up. “Baklava.”

“What?”

“Hearing about what has to be done at the Inn…It got me thinking,” Aeryn replied, shrugging. “My stepsister, Rashae, is masterful at making it. Always her job, at family gatherings. Papa–my stepfather, that is–would fret over the main courses, Mama handled all else, but Rashae’s made the baklava since she was barely thirteen. I never quite got the hang of it in the same way.”

“Thought you liked chocolate-covered strawberries best,” Alisaie teased.

“For occasional indulgence, yes,” Aeryn admitted. “But if I were ever in a situation like theirs…I’d want to be reminded of home, I think.”

Alisaie looked across the sands, to the giant wall of solid light gleaming in the distance, picking out the dark specks that were actually pieces of buildings, swallowed by the Flood. The wind stung her eyes, thankfully.

“Well, it’s not like that’s anything we’ll have to worry about,” Alisaie finally replied, after clearing her throat. “No sin eater is going to turn _you_.”

* * *

Much later, every ilm aching, watching Bragi finish carrying Aeryn to her room, Alphinaud and the other casters stumbling after to provide aid, Thancred and Ryne shuffling to their own rest, Alisaie remembered that brief conversation in the sands of Amh Araeng.

She cursed as she realized she was seriously considering if there were any culinarians at the Facet of Nourishing who could manage something close to a traditional Near Eastern Baklava.


	22. Bad End AU: Shadowbringers

Aeryn stood at the pyre as the last of them was consumed, arms crossed, eyes staring without seeing as the flames continued to dance. The others had protested but she had sent them back, leaving her alone to wait.

She sensed him as the shadow portal opened and he stepped up beside her. “Here I thought there were religious qualms against cremation,” the Emissary said, white robe visible in her peripheral.

“I stopped believing in the Twelve awhile ago,” she replied. “Nor will I leave any of their bodies for you and yours to take, as you have others.” _As you did Ardbert, you swivving–_

“Sensible,” he said. “It is a shame that the transference did not work. Even the Exarch’s last second sacrifice could not save them.”

“Spare me your false sympathy. You never saw them as people. Just nuisances.”

“True. And it shall make dealing with you easier, as none of your other companions are quite to their level of nuisance.”

She laughed bitterly. “You think so? I have nothing left to lose. I don’t give a damn about this war between Light and Dark anymore.” She turned to face him now. “I just want to end you.”

His lips curled into a cruel smile. “I’m sure you do. But you’re wrong. You still have quite a lot to lose.” He gestured in the direction of Revenant’s Toll, the walls barely visible from where they stood. “The other Scions and denizens of your little town. People across this realm, in the Far East–and even in the First. To them all, you are the Bringer of Hope.” Elidibus dropped his arm and turned to her again. “But what happens when you lose them, too? When _your_ hope is well and truly gone?”

“Don’t you da–”

The blast of shadow struck her in the abdomen, and for a moment she had a wild flashback to Baelsar’s Wall as she was flung a good four yalms across the clearing. Aeryn coughed as she rolled to her hands and knees.

“I will dare what I must to see my duty through,” he said. “Alone, you haven’t the strength to stop me–and your ‘Mother’ is far too weakened to lend you aid.”

She screamed and launched herself at him, rapier drawn. He batted her away, and she tumbled and rolled down an embankment, wind knocked out of her as she was stopped by the rocks at the bottom.

Elidibus loomed over her, no shadow but his own presence. “Hmph. Your anger and grief have led to a most pathetic–and disappointing–display.”

“You’re one to talk,” she croaked.

“If you can muster a modicum of your vaunted strength, find me. I shall otherwise be engaged in dimming the Light you have spread across this world, redressing the balance you have skewed.” He vanished through a portal, leaving her in the mud.

She finally drug herself out to return to town. She smelled the smoke and saw the light long before she arrived, and knew he had made good on his promise.

Aeryn fell to her knees outside the ruins of her home, realizing he was right: there was ever so much more for her to lose in addition to the twins and archons.


	23. Omelets

"What in the seven hells have you done to my kitchen?” F'lhaminn was using what they all not-so-secretly called “her mother voice”. It was enough to make Aeryn freeze and wince before turning around, trying to affect an innocent look.

The miqo’te, wearing a hastily-donned house robe and slippers, was looking around, hands on hips, utterly flabbergasted. Not that Aeryn could blame her; it looked like a small bomb had gone off, covering the stove top and counter in a gooey mess of egg and cheese.

“What are you even doing awake right now?” Aeryn asked, edging in front of the sink where she was trying to soak the pan she hoped wasn’t utterly ruined. She vaguely recalled it costing a decent amount, and Tataru was sure to remember to the exact gil.

Sharp coral eyes peered at her. “I could ask you the same thing, young lady.”

“I just got back from the First,” Aeryn explained. “There’s still enough of a time differential that everyone here was still asleep but I really wanted breakfast—I left the Crystarium before eating, silly of me, I know—and so decided to make an omelet.”

F’lhaminn continued to peer, until Aeryn wanted to start fidgeting. “You’re researching something, aren’t you?”

“…There’s plenty to look into, given the circumstances and I was hoping that some of the records we—X’rhun, Arya, and I, I mean—discovered when looking into Arya’s family history, but that’s honestly to be expected and I don’t know why it’s relevant?”

F’lhaminn sighed. “Aeryn, dear, you’re rambling.”

“…And?”

“And that only happens in specific circumstances. Such as a research frenzy—“

“For Twelves’ sake, it’s not a _frenzy_ —“

“—And you tend to lose track of things when your head is in your books and notes. Such as, apparently, how _not_ to make an omelet.” F’lhaminn gestured at the mess.

“I maaaaaay have lost track of time, true. And temperature. And what exactly I must have put in there to get this reaction, BUT—“

“Out.”

“Huh?”

“Get. Out. Go to bed, Aeryn.”

“But I’m not—“

“And you are hereby banned from making omelets at three in the morning for any reason whatsoever.”

“But _F’lhaminn_ —“

“OUT.”

Aeryn squeaked and dashed out, hearing the songstress begin to swear behind her, some of it in Thavnairian and _wow_ where had she learned _those_ words?

Maybe hiding in her room under her bed covers wasn’t the worst idea after all.


	24. Seven Devils

The sounds of the fighting below faded as she crossed into the opulent plaza, strangely empty of the usual idlers. Aeryn could even faintly hear the turn of the aetheryte in the center as she crossed the marble floors toward the lift that would lead her to Vauthry’s chamber. Stepping from the corridor to block the way were the women in red and blue motley.

“Apologies, friend,” the Red Jongleur said with a nasty grin. “But you’ve reached a dead end. And on _this_ sorry track, there’s no turning back.”

“Unless you want your own place under Vauthry’s rule,” the Blue Jongleur said. “Otherwise we shall have to duel.”

Aeryn narrowed her eyes at them. The memory of an old song played across her mind. “I don’t want your money, nor your crown. See I’ve come to burn your kingdom down,” she retorted as she drew her rapier.

Red laughed. “You and your friends have been quite the trouble, there’s no doubt,” she snarled. “With the General dead, it’s up to us to take the trash out.”

“We’ve a good life here, see, and we’re not about to lose it,” Blue continued through her own giggles. “But fair’s fair–we’ll give you a good death.” She seemed done with rhymes.

A good life choosing who came to live and die in this hell. A life spent passing out the means of control over the unwitting populace. Aeryn thought of those she had seen turned since coming to the First. How she had thought it couldn’t be any worse than that.

Fire crackled along the blade of her rapier. Words crowded in her head, possible responses and retorts to the pair’s taunts, but in the end silence was her fallback. She had said enough; her skills would do the talking for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((So in my _Shadowbringers_ headcanon–and a scene I desperately need to rewrite–Thancred kills Ran’jit in Amh Araeng because _that makes the most narrative sense_. Which changes only one thing in the story when the seven ~~devils~~ Warriors of Darkness assault Eulmore. I may try to expand on this one someday, but this was a Tumblr prompt response to get the basic idea down meanwhile.))


	25. Waiting

There was a tradition among her mother’s people. It was based on a religion she no longer believed, on superstitions she could not find a basis for in scientific facts. And yet...

She had done this before, as it was right and proper. Perhaps there were no gods, but there was some sort of cosmic balance, shifts in the aether that responded to the beliefs and thoughts and feelings of people. It was still best to pay respect to old traditions.

And so she unlocked the door and kept the lamps burning. She drank from a strong pot of coffee as she worked on some research she had been meaning to read, historical records about various Ronkan magical disciplines.

When her vision blurred and it took multiple tries to read a sentence, she got up and checked the chronometer. Just a bit past midnight; she had woken up earlier than she had planned, had a longer day than expected, leaving her more tired than she liked for this.

But she couldn’t fall asleep. She had to stay up, had to wait.

She drank a glass of ice water, a change from the coffee--still a quarter of the pot left, she would have to reheat it and it was getting to the stronger dregs--and stretched and did light exercises in the middle of her room.

The window was open, the night air cool with the scent of an incoming rainstorm rolling in from the other side of the lake. One of the lamps burned in the window, and she checked to make sure it would not be blown out by the rising wind, that it would be seen by anyone looking for a beacon in the night, a way home.

The chronometer eventually chimed the first morning bell.

She recited, from memory, old prayers that felt more like poetry. A traveling people, they had plenty of them for just about every sort of journey one could take, and for those waiting for their loved ones to return.

Perhaps the words, whispered in earnest, wound their own way along the wind to the subject of the prayer. She liked that idea better than to some fictional deity, an otherworldly recipient made up in someone’s mind, perhaps even given form with prayer and sacrifice.

There had been enough sacrifices.

The rain finally broke over the city, the sound a dangerously lulling susurration. She played new songs in the orchestrion to combat the gentle rush of wind and water. She dared not close the window; the lamplight had to remain unhindered.

She made a new pot of coffee as the chronometer chimed three. The old pot was undrinkable, the ice water wasn’t doing it, and this kept her busy. She made some toast while she was at it, pulling butter and a bright berry preserve from the icebox. A light snack would help as well.

More stretches, and she gave in to pacing, replaying conversations in her mind, thinking of things she could have, should have said. Thought about what they knew now, and how that changed everything.

Don’t think too hard about the illusory city beneath the waves, despite this being the hour those thoughts so often arose. She would have to come up with something else for them. This night, however, she waited for someone else.

As the chronometer chimed four times, she drew her rapier and focus and began to practice her forms. How often had she done this, while the one she waited for made comments and jokes? 

Not often enough, she thought. It would never be often enough. She looked at the door, still unlocked, still unopened, still not walked through.

She checked the lamp in the window, ignoring the rising constriction in her chest, climbing to her throat. Her eyes stung and blurred because she was tired, that was all.

A colder than usual shower helped with waking, and perhaps hid a few tears. It had been a long night.

It was difficult to tell when dawn truly came, thanks to the rain. By the seventh bell she could no longer deny her vigil was over.

He had not come.

The mixed feeling of relief and pain hit her like a runaway trolley. She collapsed, weary, by the window, the lamp finally guttering out as she allowed herself to sob.

Her father had not come home, either, nor had her mother. Nor her brother, when she finally sat for him in her room in the Waking Sands, accepting he was gone. The colleagues and friends she had waited for--Moenbryda, Haurchefant, Ysayle, Papalymo--had not either.

He had sat up with her the night she had finally, _finally_ waited for Minfilia, and they had talked for hours; it was easier when there was someone else, to keep you both awake. He hadn’t understood entirely, but he had done it with her, for her.

She knew better than anyone that Ardbert was never really gone, a part of her now and always. Yet he had once had his own life, and she didn’t know what rites, if any, the man who caused the Flood had been given.

So she had waited, in the manner of her mother’s people, for him to come home, to face the finality. She had not fallen asleep nor had her lamps faltered, and so she had not missed a spirit’s passage, leaving them to wander lost in the night forevermore. No ghost or ghoul had entered her chambers--what an irony there!--no unexpected living visitor had suddenly entered, the lights and prayers guiding them home after all.

She breathed heavily, grief spent for now. She had waited through the night, as was proper. She didn’t know the traditions of his people, wiped away with the Flood and a hundred years of forgetting, so she hoped this would suffice.

She drug herself to her feet and stumbled to the door. She opened it, peering out--just in case, Mama used to say--before shutting it again, locking it this time before trudging to her bed. The others knew not to disturb her until at least midday.

As she sat on the mattress, she whispered the last prayer--a traveler's blessing for the wandering soul to find their way to their eternal destination. She laughed a little at that one, knowing what she knew, the uniqueness of the situation. She fell back amid her numerous pillows.

Her vigil ended and the rituals complete, her tears still coming in fits and starts, Aeryn slept.


	26. Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick response for Febhyurary 2021 Day 3: Flower. Emet-Selch has a few memories as he looks at Aeryn's favored hair decoration.

“What?” Aeryn demanded, snapping Emet-Selch’s attention down to her eyes; they were the hard grey of steel arrowheads as she glowered.

“What have I done now?” He asked, affecting boredom.

“You were staring. Is there something on my head?”

“Other than those weeds you seem to purposefully tangle there, no. I was thinking and you but happened to be in my sight line.”

She rolled her eyes and turned away. He glared at her back for a moment—such an impudent girl!—but his eyes soon returned to the white flowers in her hair, the wave of memory taking him again despite his best efforts.

* * *

Floral scents assaulted his nose as he entered the office of Azem. “Did you lose control of a concept?” He asked while looking around for his colleague, not immediately visible amid the riot of varied blooms covering the room.

Her head popped up from behind the desk, not wearing her mask, hood down. “Of course I didn't! This time. Anyway, haven’t you heard of knocking, O most eminent Emet-Selch?”

“I did knock,” he replied dryly. “We’re going to be late, and the others are eager to hear your latest report.”

“You could be not late by going ahead without me. And let’s be honest, only Elidibus is eager to hear my ramblings.”

He frowned. She had attempted to keep her tone light, but he had caught the shadow of frustration underlying her words. It was difficult to not hear it, after having known her so long. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she lied. Then sighed as he continued to watch her evenly. “That’s exactly the problem, actually.”

“...The problem is there is no problem?” Sometimes he wondered at how his dear friend’s mind worked.

“Yes!” She hopped to her feet, nearly tripping in the tangle of her robes. He managed not to laugh, though his lip may have twitched. Moments like this were closer to her true self; not the composed Convocate, the wise wanderer—or terrifying warrior-sorceress, on the very rare occasions such was needed. “I didn’t...I sort of…” she hesitated.

“Use your words,” he encouraged, deadpan. “Spit it out.”

“I didn’t want to come home,” she said quietly.

For a few ticks of the chronometer neither of them said anything.

“Why ever not?” He finally asked. While he understood her role and that she was well-suited for it, he couldn’t fathom not wishing to return to Amaurot. No other place in the world compared to their city.

She shrugged and ran a hand through her iridescent hair, the shimmering colors out-dazzling the rainbow of flowers covering her office. “There’s more to see and do, people to meet. For instance, there’s a festival about to start in a mountain province across the continent, and I’m going to miss it because of an unnecessary check in.”

“You would shirk your responsibilities for a _festival_?”

“It _is_ my duty!” She replied, exasperated. “I am the Wanderer, I seek out new concepts, new ideas—“

“—And bring them _home_ ,” he finished. She looked away. Emet-Selch sighed and stepped closer to the desk. More boxes of flowers covered most of the surface, the ones nearest to hand bright white. “I’m guessing these are concepts found in your mountain province?”

“...Some of them. But they’re not really concepts. They’re just flowers, though I’ve been experimenting with some forms and colors and—“

“And letting yourself get distracted?” He asked, trying to lighten the mood again.

“There’s nothing distracting about natural beauty and what can be done to preserve it.”

“I suppose not,” he conceded. “Look, the sooner you give your report and file your findings, the sooner you can get back to your travels.”

“And that won’t bother you?” She looked up at him again.

“Of course it will, as I’d like to spend _some_ time with you before you leave again,” he said. “But if I’ve become so uninteresting…” he pouted.

She rolled her eyes, the colors shifting in them like in her hair. “Of course you aren’t! And I won’t leave so quickly that we don’t have time.” She paused for a moment. “You could come with me. Just for a short while!” She added quickly as he began to shake his head.

“My duties don’t allow it,” he reminded her. “And besides; I’m not much one for the country.”

“You’re missing out.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Now come; we really must be going. Get your mask. Assuming you can find it in this mess.”

“Think I can get away with fashioning one from these blossoms?”

“I think Lahabrea would bore us all with an hours long lecture if you tried,” Emet-Selch replied. “So I’d take it as a kindness if you did not.” He reached down and plucked a few of the larger flowers from the nearest box. It was a simple thing to alter the stems with a light bit of magic, twining them together into a basic clip. He slid it into her hair and smirked. “But he won’t notice that under your hood, I think.”

She reached up, adjusting it slightly. The flowers lay mostly flat against her ever-shifting locks. “I do like getting secrets past him. And it may perhaps amuse our Emissary when he inevitably pulls me aside for more details after the meeting.”

“You do tend to indulge him,” Emet-Selch said, without rancor; as with most of their fellows and her foreign friends, Azem’s affection for their younger colleague was that of a sister for a darling brother. It was a truth of her that Emet-Selch had come to terms with ages ago.

“It suits _his_ duties to know, and he likes a good story besides,” she replied, finally finding her mask, knocking a bit of soil off the edge before pulling it on. She brought up her hood carefully, the flowers and her shimmery hair covered, her appearance that of a proper Amaurotine.

He would still know her by sight anywhere, simply by how she stood and moved, let alone the shining aura of her soul, the azure tint of her aether.

“Shall we?” She asked, smiling.

He bowed dramatically for her amusement, an arm sweeping toward the door. “After you, my dear. But _do_ wipe the mulch from your boots as well, please.”

“Oh, bugger…”

* * *

“You’re staring again,” Aeryn said, scowling up at him. He noted once more that her eyes, while expressive enough for a mortal, had not nearly the range of her original incarnation. Another reminder how wrong, how broken, his old friend’s soul was now.

_Her own doing._

He dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. Aeryn started, even a subtle adjustment of the aether noticeable to her sensitive Echo. She reached up and touched the violas pinned in her hair, the white petals rejuvenated.

“They were looking a bit wilted after all your misadventures,” he said. “If you’re going to insist on wearing them, they ought to at least be presentable.” He turned away. “Now, your comrades are glowering and you’ve one more Lightwarden to track down, _Hero_. Shall we?”

The girl made an irate scoff but said nothing more, stalking past him to her companions. Even broken and now damaged, her soul stood out among them, her aetheric signature a certain shade of blue—if nearly washed out by all that corrupt Light. When she laughed at something one of the others said, it _almost_ sounded right. Like a child unconsciously mimicking the way a parent laughed or spoke or stood.

Even if he couldn’t see her soul, there was enough there now, after seven Rejoinings, to seem so nearly familiar.

He wondered when and why she had started wearing those flowers in her hair.

Emet-Selch shook his head. It didn’t matter; the girl was going to be torn apart by the Light she was absorbing, ironically bringing about the very Rejoining she and her companions were trying to prevent. Once done, he would see the monster destroyed and her tattered soul ushered back into the Lifestream to be reborn again, further Rejoined, ever closer to who she used to be, ought to be—would be again, when he had his way and Zodiark brought them all back as they had once been.

She would thank him for it, he told himself again as he ambled after the Scions. She would realize he was right, she had been wrong, but he would be gracious and still apologize, and he would spend as much of eternity as she wished fashioning flowers for her hair.


	27. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A place and time not quite remembered, after so long and so many changes--to the place, and to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Originally posted to Tumblr for Febhyurary 2021_  
>  \--

As was her wont when there was too much time, Aeryn picked up a simple job for the adventurers’ guild, just running some supplies to a small outpost near Griffin’s Crossing. It meant trekking across the southern hills that separated Coerthas from the Twelveswood, weaving through the frosted forest, which should have been simple enough. However, the route was unfamiliar, and she found herself somewhat off track, thoughts turning to finding shelter to wait out the windy night as snow kicked up and obscured her vision. There was the shadow of what might be a house a few yalms ahead in the dim light, and she stumbled toward it.

As she got closer, Aeryn saw the structure was naught more than a ruin, only a partial wall and stairs remaining. Disappointing, but she caught site of the distant glow of the camp’s signal fire through the trees beyond it; she hadn’t been so far off course after all.

Rising hairs on the back of her neck made her pause, but there were no strange sounds, no sense of danger. Just an odd tickle in her mind, a sensation of near-recognition though she was certain she had not been this way before. Glancing around, lumps in the snow indicated more ruins, and a rime-covered spire that might have belonged to a country church blended in with the trees.

The settlement had obviously suffered, both from the Dragonsong War and the Seventh Umbral Calamity, its remaining inhabitants finding elsewhere to live. Sad, but not unusual for Coerthas these days. Somewhere under the snow there might be records of the people who had once called this place home, but that was for others to discover; she had a job to do and desperately wanted the warmth of that fire.

Aeryn didn’t realize that her feet knew the old paths, avoiding the broken down fences and walls to leave the town behind, trudging back to the main road toward the camp, where a hot meal and a cozy bed waited for her.

She dreamed of her childhood that night; her brother’s boyish whooping, her birth father’s laughter, her mother’s singing. The church bell chimed the hours, their melody echoing in her ears even after she woke, uncertain where her melancholy came from.


End file.
